The downward spiral of worry, motherhood edition

I remember being vaguely terrified by the great unknown when I was a teenager.

My terror revolved around my irrational concern that I might get a B in Math Analysis which would result in my rejection from the college of my choice which would ruin my life.  As an end result, I’d never be employed or meet my future spouse.

Therefore, I would end up living in a cardboard box wearing ill-fitting shoes without socks for the rest of my life.  And I would have no blanket.

I specialized in the Downward Spiral of Thought.  Excellent, right?

But, of course, all the potential tragedies never happened–and other, unforeseen tragedies really did happen–but here I am anyway.  Gainfully employed, married for almost twenty-four years and raising four children.  I’m a home-owner and I have friendships that have lasted over twenty-five years.  I have been blessed and challenged in ways I never expected.

Now, I find myself peering into my children’s futures and I quake with terror because I worry they will not figure out what type of work to do.  I worry that they will not marry well.  I worry that they will never get their driver’s licenses or rent their own apartments or live happily ever after.

I’m sliding around and around the Downward Spiral but instead of worrying about my own life, I worry about their lives.

Some things never change.

Being a mother seemed impossible when the kids were babies with all the not-sleeping and the fevers and the tantrums, but now it is much worse because almost nothing is in my control.  I can’t manipulate their futures or their behavior or their achievements.

Yet, I know that the same God who had a plan for my life has a plan for my children’s lives.

I have to stop fretting.